The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood

by R. M. Ballantyne

It was in the morning of the day about which we now write, that Victor Ravenshaw and his friends arrived at the settlement. We have said that Michel Rollin set off alone in a canoe in search of his mother the moment he obtained sufficient information to enable him to act. At first he paddled wildly over the watery plain, as if mere exertion of muscle would accomplish his end, but soon he began to consider that without giving definite direction to his energies he could not hope for success. He therefore made straight for the mission station, where he found Mr Cockran’s family and people encamped on the stage, the minister himself being away in his canoe visiting some of his scattered flock, and offering them such comfort as only those can who truly trust in Christ. Here he was advised to go to the Mountain, to which place it was probable his mother and grandfather would have been conveyed if picked up by any passing boat or canoe.

Deciding to do so, he paddled away at once with diminishing hopes and a heavy heart, for the evidences of total destruction around him were terribly real. He had not gone far when a canoe appeared on the horizon. There was one figure in it. As it drew near the figure seemed familiar. Nearer still, and he recognised it.

“Vinklemann!”

“Michel!”

The friends arrested their canoes by grasping hands.

“I seek for ma mère,” said the half-breed.

“I for mine moder,” returned the German.

A hurried consultation ensued. It was of no use going to the Mountain. Winklemann had just come from it, having failed to find his mother. He was still suffering from the effects of his recent accident, but he could not wait. He would continue the search till he died. Rollin was of the same mind, though neither he nor his friend appeared likely to die soon. They resolved to continue the search together.

Both of them were thoroughly acquainted with the Red River plains in all directions, but Rollin was more versed in the action of water. The greater part of his boyhood had been spent in canoeing and hunting expeditions with his father, from whom he inherited the French tongue and manners which showed so much more powerfully than the Scotch element in his composition. After his father’s death he had consorted and hunted much with Peegwish, who spoke Indian and French, but remarkably little English. Peegwish was also a splendid canoe-man, so that Rollin had come to study with great intelligence the flow and effect of currents of water, whether deep or shallow, narrow or broad. Hence when Winklemann related circumstantially all he had done, he shook his head and gave it as his opinion that he had not gone the right way to work at all, and that, according to the lie of the land and the height of the flood, it was certain the hut must have been carried far below that part of the settlement in the direction of the lower fort.

Poor Winklemann was so worn out with unsuccessful searching that he was only too glad to follow wherever Michel Rollin chose to lead. Hence it came to pass that in the afternoon of the same day the searchers came in view of the tall tree where old Liz had hoisted her flag of distress.